


in horrible graces

by choimiah



Category: GOT7
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Rimming, Smut, but here's some jackbam, i'm not really a jackbam writer, jackbam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 04:36:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10482228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choimiah/pseuds/choimiah
Summary: Bambam hates everything about Jackson. He hates his smug face, his insatiable need to be right all of the time, his aggravating smile that makes flowers grow, his musky cologne that leaves a trail of aroma so distinctly Jackson that Bambam could bust a nut at the smell of it, he..he...fuck.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really trash, but I hope this isn't. :) alternatively titled: you suck (damn straight)

If someone were to tell Bambam that he’d end up pressed against a hard, cold wall in a utility closet, sweating (because the closet may be chilly, but the dead of summer in Bangkok isn’t), he probably would want to break their neck because he’s not that easy. And if that same someone went on in elaboration that the person he’d be pressed against would be his aggravatingly hot (as well as aggravating in general) arch nemesis Jackson “Jackass” Wang, he’d blow a damn gasket.

This hypothetical someone is very much imagined and for the purposes of explanation alone, but the situation happens to his present reality.

Call him a hypocrite if you will, but he doesn’t entirely hate it. What he does hate are the little, whiny moans Jackson is forcing out of his throat every time he dips his godforsaken tongue into a sweet spot that Bambam’s body can’t help but buzz in absolute pleasure at.

“Jackass,” Bambam grumbles between his panting and squirming.

“Son,” Jackson chuckles between kitten licks. “Jackson. We’ve been over this, babe.”

“You know, I want this to work. But, you doing that is killing my vibe.”

“You mean talking?”

“More like breathing.”

“Oh, babe. You don’t mean that.” Jackson duly claws his fingers up to the back of Bambam’s neck to tilt his head backward and have more access to the heated skin between his jaw and collarbone, pressing and dragging his tongue wetly, and making Bambam weak in the knees.

"You," Bambam swears passively, "are so fucking irritating."

"Yeah?" Jackson growls as he finally comes up for air, looking so disheveled with his dusty blonde hair mussed and moisture collecting on his chin and around his mouth from his own saliva (it's way hotter than it sounds), that Bambam's dick actually pulses in his uniform pants from the view.

Bambam hates the power he's relinquishing when he doesn't respond, instead just staring stupidly as Jackson unbuckles his own pants with a self-satisfying smirk like the asshole he is. He hates how the older looks down at him with a condescending grin that does nothing to distinguish the embers of dominance licking darkly in his eyes that only roar into a blazing inferno when Bambam whimpers, actually fucking whimpers, as Jackson pushes him on his knees. He hates when Jackson pulls out his cock with a teasing slowness with one hand and strokes one finger down Bambam's cheek with the other, coddling him with a gentle roughness that can only be described as scintillating.

But what he absolutely detests in every way is how instead of spitting out some snarky comment or shooting him an acidic glare, he melts right into Jackson's touch as if he is the true gospel, and Bambam a loyal and avid follower of the good news.

"You stare at me, Bammie," Jackson says it like he's disclosing some wonderfully juicy secret. Bambam knows that he stares. He doesn't mean to, and whenever Jackson catches him and sends a wink his way he'll grimace and try to play it off, but he knows it's no secret. He almost can't help the way his eyes wander over during a boring lesson and just stay there, lingering warily on Jackson's sturdy jaw, his strong, high nose, and impossibly smooth temple. It's ridiculous, and bordering on obsessive, how enraptured Bambam is by the black stubble that sprouts around the older's chin whenever he doesn't feel like shaving. He's almost positive this a secret he'll take to his grave, that is until Jackson furrows an eyebrow in curiosity and Bambam should just strangle himself because that came out of his damn mouth.

"Well then I should shave a little less. Since Bammie likes it."

Bambam has half a mind to tell Jackson to quit with the pet names and that they're not serious or affectionate enough to be throwing them around so excessively; on that same strain, the other half of his mind is crackling in anticipation of what Jackson is about to do with the hand gently petting Bambam's hair. So a whole mind minus a half equals not enough sense to say no like he probably should, even if just to savor some of the dignity he has left.

Then something warm and pulsing is pressed to his lips and he opens his mouth, forcing all of the words he wanted to say back down his throat, along with Jackson’s heavy cock.

It’s not as magical as he imagined it would be.

In all of the manga he’s read and porn he’s watched, sucking dick is a mystical, wonderful sensation. The giver always looks so blissed out and pleased, as if there were nothing they’d rather be doing, that Bambam figured it would be similar his first time. He even closes his eyes and tries to feel _it_. But that only magnifies his other senses, allowing him to really taste the brine and sweat, feel the brush of damp skin and fuzzy happy trail grazing the tip of his nose.

“Is it good, Bam?” Jackson groans out, hips twisting beneath Bambam’s flat palm. The younger grabs the base and pulls off to look up at Jackson, who looks back.

“I think I got the short end of the stick,” he says, in all seriousness.

Jackson actually laughs at that. It’s a new experience, seeing Jackson actually, genuinely laugh at something he’s said, big eyes crinkled at the sides and a high pitched giggle that bounces off the walls. Bambam is at a loss when his chest twists in bittersweet agony. To drown out the dumb feeling he puts Jackson back in his mouth and tries to distract both of them by nearly choking himself by how deep he lets Jackson fuck his throat, even playing with his balls a little. The hands in his hair pull harsher and deep groans and heavy, shallow breathing fill the space. Just when Bambam thinks he’s about to die, his dick twitches again, heavier this time, and harder to ignore. He squirms, apparently too much as one wrong move throws him into a choking-coughing-dying spree.

“Shitshitshitshit,” Jackson curses and pulls out in a rush. The sudden influx of air causes Bambam to heave worse, chilled air grating the back of his throat unpleasantly.

Jackson gets on his knees in a hurry and cups Bambam’s face in his warm, soft hands.

“Are you okay?” he asks worriedly.

Once Bambam is able to inhale and exhale properly, chest settling, he nods.

“I’m sorry, babe.” Jackson shakes his head. “I got excited. You were doing so good, though.”

Bambam sounds like the virgin he is when he says, “I was?”

“Mhm. I’m gonna make it up to you, sugar.” Jackson lets go of his face gently and stands. “On your feet, baby.”

It’s Bambam’s hot and leaking cock that has him scrambling to get up. It’s definitely not because Jackson is hot and offering him something, anything, and the younger is so, so eager to receive.

Fat chance of that.

“Can you lean against the wall for me?” Jackson says, voice husky and doing filthy, unspeakable things to Bambam. “Palms flat.”

He does as told.

Nothing registers for a while. Not when Jackson pushes against him from behind, strong hands leaving hot touches as they coast down to his ass, giving him a hard slap that knocks the wind straight out of the younger’s lungs. Not when Jackson reaches around to his front to unbuckle his shorts and pull them down his legs along with his boxers. And certainly not when he’s guided to step out of them, as well as his shiny shoes, left in nothing but his dress shirt and his white, ankle socks, shivering in every way possible from everything possible.

However, he definitely feels the wet, hot tongue that pushes against his tight entrance. He wiggles his butt, impatient and ready for Jackson to get on with it. If Jackson were being his regular self he probably would have drawn it out, let Bambam beg for it until he felt generous enough to give him what he wanted. But he must feel bad for almost killing him a moment ago so doesn’t push for anything. Just lavs his tongue wetly over Bambam’s hole a few times before pushing in, hands wide and firm on his cheeks as he spreads them apart to get a deeper angle.

It’s good.

Really fucking good.

A hot, tingly sensation sparks in his toes and runs up to his stomach, anchoring itself stubbornly and refusing to go away, only intensifying with Jackson’s obscenely loud slurping and lip smacking. It’s almost too much, and he thinks he’ll actually black out.

Then Jackson sits back on his haunches and the dizzying pressure is gone and Bambam is this close to throwing a tantrum because of it when Jackson turns him around. Bambam can only see a blurry image of him through half-lidded, unfocused eyes. One hand leaves his butt and is back moments later, one finger pressing into him. A sensation of freezing cold and smoldering heat causes him to shudder uncontrollably, moaning so loud that Jackson shushes him playfully. His enjoying this so much lets Bambam know that he's gonna catch hell for it later. Jackson won't ever let him live this down. He can foresee the "don't be like this, sugar. will my tongue calm you down?". However that only lasts for a second because Jackson is sliding another finger into him and he's torn between pleasure and pain, biting his lip and screwing his eyes shut.

"Does that hurt?" Jackson asks.

"A little." Bambam rasps. "S'okay though. It's starting to feel better."

So Jackson keeps going, adding one more finger after that and now he's up to three, pumping into Bambam with affection and patience that Bambam can't keep from swooning over. The burn of the stretch is so far diluted that he can barely feel it over the hot rush of blood to his hardening cock and the swelling knot of delicious pressure low in his belly.

"Can you take a forth?" Jackson is asking him. 

"A forth?" Bambam nearly cries. 

"No need really. I'm not _that_ big." Then he leans up to his ear, still pumping, and whispers against his ear. "Big enough though."

Bambam whimpers hard and embarrassingly loud as this new angle has Jackson knocking against _something_ that makes his arms a little weak and his mind go foggy, clouded with a feeling he's never experienced before but would not mind drowning in. He’s so out of it that the older has to shake him lightly to get him to concentrate on what he’s saying, apparently has been saying for a while now.

“I don’t have a condom.” He sounds very frustrated about it. Bambam doesn’t get it. He thinks very hard, uses all his brain power to think very hard. Why would they need a condom again?

“Are you clean?” he asks, swaying a little on his feet.

It doesn’t take Jackson long at all to understand. “Completely.”

“Then fuck a condom.”

Everything happens very fast after that. Jackson’s pants are off and around his ankles with his boxers, and Bambam is suddenly no longer touching the floor. He doesn’t have time to panic about this confounding new discovery however because Jackson’s cock is sliding inside of his slicked up entrance and he’s moaning out loud, shameless and in so much pleasure that his toes curl automatically, restless. His eyes close again. His back is flush with the cold wall as his legs are wrapped snugly around Jackson's waist, bouncing against him with every thrust. 

“That feel nice, baby?” Jackson asks shortly, but he gives Bambam no time to answer (only the billionth time the older’s left him helplessly speechless) before he’s licking into the younger’s mouth like a frisky puppy, endlessly eager and enthusiastic. Spit dribbles down his chin and Bambam internally cringes, and outwardly shivers intensely (it’s gross but also kinda sexy, what is wrong with him?), savoring it all.

“Yeah,” Bambam finally pants out between needy whimpering and involuntary whines that morph into moans some time between materializing from his throat and hitting the sticky, warm air. “R-r-really nice.”

“It’s nice?” Jackson coos needlessly into Bambam’s mouth, rutting up into him in rough, uneven strokes, by this point at least, hands kneading his soft ass as he disconnects their lips to run his own along the dip of Bambam’s collarbone, sucking a dark mark into the unmarred skin. He comes up for a second to say, “Call me p’”, and then he’s down again.

“It feels so good, p’Jackson.”

His dick is red now, ruby red, and sticking to his lower stomach from his own pre-cum. It’s too overwhelming, the squelching Jackson’s cock makes as he’s fucking into him so hot and good that Bambam thinks he can cum without even being touched, as embarrassing as that is.

“Shit,” Jackson breathes throatily into his neck as he tenses, shaking and coming so violently that it vibrates through Bambam as well, setting his spine on fire despite it being pressed into the cold, solid wall.

“Fuck.” Jackson licks the dip between Bambam’s jaw and throat absently, riding out the rest of his orgasm, leaving the younger to twitch all on his own. “Fuck, baby.”

“Nhng,” is the only sound he’s capable of making, too fucked out to string some syllables together to prepare something a little more coherent, or human, at the very least.

“Wait, you didn’t finish?” A soft hand playing with his slit has Bambam keening and whining and begging and whining and shaking to be touched. He’s practically humping himself onto Jackson’s hand. The older seems all too happy to oblige as he sets Bambam on his feet again, securing him with a hand, and dropping to his knees, taking the younger in his mouth so swiftly that Bambam can only suck in a breath and mewl out his name.

“P’, it’s so...fuck!”

“Yeah, baby boy?” Jackson says softly. “What was that?”

He’s so fucking irksome.

“I s-said, said it’s good, p’.”

“Thought so.” He does something with his tongue on his balls while fisting his cock that Bambam comes like he’s never came playing with his sad, overgrown dildo. His head jerks to the side as he lets out something between a moan and a shriek. Jackson takes it all like a champ, sucking Bambam dry and licking up what lands on his stomach cleanly.

By this point, Bambam is ready for a nice nap. He slides to the floor, hissing when the cold tile stings his bare butt. He’s pulled into a warm, sticky lap, and he doesn’t even care because Jackson coddles him like he never knew he needed to coddled, impossibly gentle and present in it all.

“Thank you for that, baby.” Jackson kisses his cheek, lips smiling against him. As sedated and bordering on sleep as he is, Bambam is alert enough to swing an arm out that Jackson catches easily, pulling it to his lips to kiss every single one of Bambam’s bony knuckles like this is what he’s needed since forever ago.

“Don’t get mushy on me, Jackass,” Bambam warns noncommittally, lying his head in the crook of the older’s neck. “This isn’t _Sleepless In Seattle_. You’re a decent fuck, got it?”

“Mhm,” Jackson agrees, also noncommittally. “What do you want to eat later? _Ama_ or _Mama Aromdee’s_?”


End file.
